


The Rose Of New York

by Not_You



Category: Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Lingerie, Rule 63, Secret Identity, Sex Pollen, Short Chapters, Truth Serum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:09:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt for girl!Rorschach not dressing as a man to fight crime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Gonna get it now, you cunt." The voice is as ugly and oily as Dan would expect, and he has to get the fuck up right now because they've got his partner and he warned her, he fucking warned her! Maybe she'll listen to him next time, if he manages to get up and keep her from being raped and killed right now. His arms still feel like fucking noodles, though, and it's all he can do to get to his elbows, willing his head to clear.

"Beg to differ." Her quiet, husky voice sounds the same as ever. "Look down." Dan looks up in time to see the a glint of silver between her the toe of her dainty boot and her opponent's unbuckled belt. The other two have still got her arms, but she must've been playing possum when she acted concussed earlier. Two throwing crescents (thank god she's so small, it's easy to aim over her head) and one brutal heel-kick to the balls later, the situation is pretty much resolved. Rorschach stamps her tiny foot and the blade retracts. She stretches, graceful form bowing back more than should really be possible, the skirt of her deep red coat flaring out around her. The rose has fallen from her hat and one of her lapels is sticking straight up. Dan goes to smooth it down after gift-wrapping everyone.

"All right?" She asks, delicate black and white face turned up to him.

He smiles as best he can. "Pretty much. I don't know if we should go in, but I could use a break." He could use a drink. He's trembling in his heavy gauntlets. He knows Rorschach hates it when he worries about her, and casts about for her rose to distract himself. He's seen it crushed, frozen, incinerated, and corroded, but this one has landed on a trashcan lid unharmed. He hands it to her, watching in fascination as her tiny hands deftly pin it to her hat. She's a wonderful workshop assistant because of the tight spaces she can reach into and her actual willingness to follow directions, and her hands and feet always remind him of the paws of some delicate mustelid. Rose pinned, she walks to the mouth of the alley, where she stands like a dark and bloody dream, turning to look back at him with her tantalizing suggestion of a face.

"Coming?" She purrs, and he nods, helpless to do anything but follow her.

It's partially because he's got it so bad that he goes to the gym the next day. It's a good distraction, because it's an old-school place, full of blue collar boxers trying to go pro and men of Hollis's vintage creaking along on the few treadmills and passing bitter judgment on fuckin' kids these days. The place is kind of dank and falling apart, but it's real in a way that has already mostly disappeared. He gets his ass kicked by some angry Puerto Rican kid, lifts a few weights, and otherwise considers it a day well spent. They call him College Boy down here, but without too much rancor and he's satisfied as he mops sweat off his face with a faded blue towel. Blind, he hears a rapid-fire attack on a speed bag and the patter of little feet on a formerly deserted mat.

Girls hardly ever come down here, and the ones that do tend to have buzz cuts and no use for men. This one may be the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. All he can see for sure at first is a shock of flame red hair, but the way she moves would be enough if her face was ugly enough to stop a clock. She has the wonderful calculating frenzy of a real fighter, and her footwork is a thing of beauty. She's a tiny little bit of a thing, smaller even than Rorschach who's only five-four in her boots. This woman is probably five foot nothing, wearing what looks like an Ace bandage around little gymnast's tits under a men's undershirt. Tiny isn't actually Dan's type, but her ass is perfection in miniature, and her size keeps her milk white skin looking rare and clear instead of pasty. She makes him think of a little dancing flame, and the urge to go over and ask her to spar is sudden and nearly overpowering. His natural shyness checks him, especially because he's over a foot taller than her and probably twice her weight in muscle and would thereby look like a total dick. He tears himself away instead, wandering off to shower and turn over their leads on Big Figure for the hundredth time.


	2. Chapter 2

There's nothing more boring than a long stakeout. They're usually uncomfortable, too, just like this one. He and Rorschach are back to back on a freezing rooftop, hugging their knees for warmth and scanning their designated quadrants for movement. As if in answer to his thoughts, Rorschach murmurs, "Nite Owl?"

"Yes?" If she's speaking at all, she really must think it's a bust.

"We should move on."

"I know, but..." They can barely hear each other. It's actually more about the vibration of their speech than the sound, both of them still watching their pieces of the roof-level horizon. "It's stupid, but I can't shake the feeling that we're in the right place."

"Hurm." It's a strangely throaty noise, lower even than her normally femme fatale voice, almost masculine. It betokens deep reflection, and he's actually surprised at what she finally says. "Twenty more minutes?"

"Fair enough. Christ, I'm bored."

"The active mind can entertain itself."

"Hah. What does your active mind entertain itself with?"

"...Clothes." He's surprised at the serious, diffident tone of her answer.

"Seriously?"

He can feel her nod. "All the beautiful things that aren't really mine."

He's had the sense that money is tight for her before, and it catches at his heart now with the thought of Rorschach and her Hundred Dresses, all lined up in her closet. "Well. If we're going to talk about beautiful things that don't belong to us, I have been thinking of this girl I saw at the gym the other day." His face is suddenly wreathed in an asinine grin that he knows she'll be able to feel. "Off and on."

"Hmph." He gets the feeling she would contemptuously toss her hair if it wasn't plastered to her head. They sit in silence for ten more of their twenty minutes. "What does she look like?"

"Bright red hair." He feels her stiffen slightly, and wonders if that's a strike against in Rorschach's Big Book Of Rules For Women. "Kinda fierce, like you."

She coughs. "Oh?"

"Yeah, but smaller. I mean, you're pretty petite, but this chick probably isn't an inch over five feet." It seems like she's about to ask him another question, but she presses his leg instead, a signal for him to turn and see what she's seeing. He was right after all, and by the time the allotted twenty minutes are up he's wishing he wasn't, because it looks as though he's about to die. He and Rorschach find themselves about to die a lot, but this one is particularly grim and he's just regretting not asking the redhead to spar, especially since none of these guys is Big Figure (again) so he's dying in a pretty pointless skirmish in the unending war, when Rorschach is suddenly there. She catches his cloak to give him enough time to keep himself from plummeting to his death. Somehow. He has no idea how she covered the intervening distance so fast, only that she's in the thick of the ones still standing and that he needs to help her.

Especially since she seems to have lost her mind. Rorschach is howling with rage, every bit of her ordinary coolness gone. There's no dignity, no plan, just homicidal rage. Which is going to get her in trouble, because Big Figure has been buying some of Moloch's surplus weaponized everything, and he can see them bringing one of those ominous little envelopes to bear. He's not fast enough to keep her from taking the whole dose full in the face, but he is fast enough to get out a flash bomb and to pitch it before they can take advantage of whatever effect the powder is having. With everyone but himself temporarily blind, it's actually pretty easy to knock out the last two that are in any condition to do anything.

Rorschach wobbles on her feet, and sits down heavily as he's securing their quarry. "You okay?"

"Stupid question."

He comes back over to her. "Hows this one: can you stand up?" She tries, shakes her head, and yelps in protest when he scoops her up.


	3. Chapter 3

Aboard Archie, he sets the controls to get them out here, and sets Rorschach on the cot in the back. "What did it smell like?"

"Grab-bag." She lets out a dusty cough, and shivers miserably.

"Oh, shit." The mixed ones are always the worst, because the chemical reactions create completely secondary symptoms. A mixture of sneezing powder and truth serum not only makes you wheeze out the truth through debilitating spasms, but gives you a rash and the runs for two days afterward.

"Have to get out of these clothes." She mutters. "Not sure what's supposed to be happening, but my skin..."

"Right. Here, let me get that." It's an uncomfortable moment as he unbuttons Rorschach's coat while she slides out of her gloves. The two of them so close, her movements so much like classical burlesque. He feels like a heel for even thinking of it when she coughs again, and peels the coat off. The lining looks like real silk, and the lack of a tag points it having been added after purchase. He's only seen the outfit under it occasionally. Rorschach stays bundled up no matter how hot it gets, but there had been that case with the sobbing girl in the ripped dress. It's dangerous to live on the streets of New York, especially if you're only fifteen and very pretty.

They had kept anything worse than a bad fright from happening to her, but the dress had been a washout, everything hanging out into the night to be pitifully covered by her own skinny arms. He had turned to offer his cloak to see a cloud of dark red enveloping the kid, Rorschach solicitously tucking it around her and murmuring softly. He had kept back because another set of balls was probably the last thing anyone involved had needed, but he has seen Rorschach's red blouse and the vest that matches her slacks before. He undoes the vest as she unwraps her scarf, and then goes to take over control of the ship, since she's together enough to want privacy, which is a good sign.

"If you've got that rash I had, try the calamine lotion." He calls back to her. "It worked for me."

"Hurm." He can hear more rustling. "Seems to be fading, actually. Should still wash."

"At least. How are you feeling?"

"Strange. Feverish."

By the time they get to the Nest, she's shivering, wrapped up in Dan's snowsuit. She looks so tiny, completely engulfed except for her little head poking out like the black and white face of a kitten.


	4. Chapter 4

He had added a bathroom down here before he became Nite Owl, anticipating the kind of things he might find himself covered in at the end of the night. It's built for true delousing, with a detachable showerhead that can be set to nearly blast your skin off. The last time Rorschach had availed herself of it, it had been due to sewage, and she had been perfectly competent to undress and wash herself while he decorously stripped behind Archie and waited for her to give the all clear. Now, though. About as soon as they had arrived she had suddenly been too hot, letting the snowsuit gape to show black bra straps and a pink flush over her white skin. He has a dazed impression of the freckles on her shoulders as she slumps against the wall, letting the snowsuit fall.

Dan will admit (to himself) to being something of a fetishist. Some of his first memories are of being fascinated by his mother's lingerie, and of a particular pair of bright red pumps. He feels wonderfully reassured of his worth as human being when he doesn't notice Rorschach's underwear until after he's checked her pulse, felt her forehead, and moved her to the cot he keeps for moments like this. It was only in the quiet that followed, when he had found that her fever wasn't dangerously high and that she was only sleeping that he had a moment to contemplate the situation. Aboard Archie, she had apparently stripped down to her mask, her boots, and some kind all-in-one thing like people wore in the fifties (with stockings and a garter belt, god have mercy on his perverted soul), customized for Rorschach's needs.

The black straps are actually burgundy, edged and lined with black leather to pad her skin. The leg holes have gotten the same treatment, and there are panels of the stuff stitched in to form light armor, finally explaining Rorschach's knack for making knives glance off her belly. The bra is more leather, the fabric of the original garment showing through between the panels. The first shock of lust gives way to something more affectionate when he notices two more alterations that can only be decorative. There are a few strips of the same eerie fabric of her mask laid alongside the leather, and black lace trim has been lovingly hand-stitched on.

"Rorschach." He shakes her gently. "C'mon, buddy. I know you don't want me to wash you."

"Wouldn't mind." She mutters, then belatedly claps a clumsy hand to her mouth, the ink swirling in her mask.

"Hey, it's okay. Remember when he dosed me with that fear toxin and you had to keep telling me that there were no monsters in my closet? I mean, this stuff makes you say the craziest things. Hell, Hollis was telling me about this one time..." He's babbling, trying to dispel the image his partner has just conjured up as he leads her to the bathroom.

"Have to stay." She croaks when he tries to leave her alone. "Might pass out again. Stupid to die of a cracked skull on the shower floor after everything." She coughs again. "No need for nudity. All affected areas uncovered." She pauses, teetering a little and leaning almost absently on Dan. "Might also help to remove boots and stockings." Dan ends up having to do both, praying for strength as he rolls the sheer black material down her white legs.


	5. Chapter 5

He's not sure just how the hell he survived that. Rorschach is clean and stable and tucked into the cot in the basement, so he's free to have a drink, not that it helps much. Nothing is really going to help, unless it can erase his memory of the last hour or so. Of holding Rorschach in his arms, both of them soaked as she mumbled into his chest that she dreams about him sometimes. She had purred as he scrubbed her off, discovering freckles and forgetting how to breathe, and had trusted him to close his eyes and take off her mask, washing the last of the dust from her face. He hadn't been sure he could trust himself until it was over, willing himself not to get hard as he held her in his lap so she could wash the mask and put it back on. He's never really had a thing for latex, but she might have changed that when she kissed his cheek in gratitude.

"Love you very much, Daniel." She had murmured in her dark voice. "Only good man left in New York."

He groans, rubbing his hands over his face. No amount of liquor is gonna help this. She had actually moaned when he had scooped her into his arms to take her back to the cot. And then she had had to get out of her lingerie body armor, tossing it out from under the covers, and he had had to hang it up to dry, and the leather will probably need oiling and... He takes another shot. Takes a deep breath, and gets up, grabbing a blanket for himself, a couple more for Rorschach, and a pile of books before heading back down to the basement. After all, he can't leave her alone.

As far as she can tell, it must be a mixture of truth serum, sleeping powder, and that damnable aphrodisiac. Moloch has made a lot of it, ever since he realized how badly it scares her. At least there doesn't seem to be much in this mixture, though she's still acting like a massive whore. She whimpers dismally and buries her face in the pillow because it's so hard not to think about Daniel. About his smile and his strength and his hands. She presses her legs tightly together, cursing her lack of protection and decency. Cursing the wetness, so like a drooling mouth. It knows exactly what it wants, harder to ignore than ever.

She jumps at the sound of Daniel coming back down the stairs. "Hey, you're awake. I brought you some more blankets."

"Need clothes."

"Oh. Oh! Right. Hang on." He scurries away again, to come back with t-shirt that will fit her like a night dress and an old pair of drawstring shorts. He turns his back like a gentleman while she puts them on, and it clutches at her heart because the way she's been throwing herself at him, she deserves whatever she gets. He's a good man, and she's leading him astray. She's glad he can't see the tears welling up in her eyes when she tells him she's decent (technically), and that he can turn around. He does, and he reads to her from a Complete Sherlock Holmes as she shivers and sweats and weeps.

"Rorschach?"

She starts guiltily. "Yes?"

"You're totally crying under there, aren't you?"

A hideously incriminating sniffle. "No. Yes. Hate truth serum."

"Buddy, there's nothing to cry about. We're both okay."

"Whore."

"Rorschach, you're the least whorish girl I know."

"Tempting you."

"Look, you can't help it. You're a human being, you kind of have to have a body. You go around wrapped up to the chin and your underwear doesn't even let your belly show."

She just rolls up her mask, wiping her wet cheeks and clenching her teeth to hold back the truth as if it were vomit. "Keep reading. Will tell you bad things if I talk."

"Okay. _Look here, Watson; you look regularly done. Lie down there on the sofa and see if I can put you to sleep._ "


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing Rorschach remembers when she wakes up is that she told Daniel. She told him at least some of it, and her roar of rage at herself brings him down the stairs at a run.

"Rorschach! Are you okay?" His hair is sticking up in complete disarray. He's still wet from the shower and only wearing a towel. It seems like a pointless slap in the face from God and makes her scream again, sticking her head under the pillow. "...So you remember, then?"

"Sorry." She croaks, tiny and miserable under the mounded blankets. "So sorry, Daniel."

"...Rorschach." He sits down on the edge of the cot inches away, and she looks only to see a single bead of water roll down his back, and hide her face again. "I haven't been dosed with truth serum, but would you like the truth anyway?" She knows exactly what she'd like, and says nothing. "I want you, too. It's okay, we don't have to do anything about it. We can still work together."

"Told I wanted to suck your cock!" Wanda screams, muffled by the pillow.

"Yeah, and so what? I've wanted to go down on you practically since I met you. There, I said it." It takes everything she has not to moan. "You're safe from me, if you want to be. I don't even know your name."

"Saw me." She can blame this on residual truth serum if she needs to.

"In your underwear? Hell, now we're finally even."

"You've seen my face."

"...What?" He sounds like he's barely breathing, and since she's still safe behind her mask, she can sit up, needing to see the look on his face.

"You've seen me." She says, and his eyes are like those of someone watching the sun rise over a new planet.

"Holy shit, when?"

She pulls off her mask. It's shockingly easy, the air and she shakes her red hair out of her face. "...Oh my God."

"Homely and still a whore." She sounds so unspeakably, Charlie Brown level discouraged that he almost laughs.

"I don't think you're homely."

Her lip wobbles, and she feels like an idiot. "Daniel-" She doesn't get time to say anything else, because she's wrapped in his arms.

"Don't be ashamed of yourself, Rorschach." He murmurs. "I can't stand to watch it when you're one of the few people I've ever met who are actually trying to make things better instead of worse."


	7. Chapter 7

Comforting as this is, she still elects to disappear for three weeks. The first time Moloch had hit them with the aphrodisiac she had stayed away for a month, and nothing had even happened, so Dan just picks up the New Frontiersman along with his Times, reads their anti-Semitic rantings and throws them out. It's week two when, according to this august and esteemed publication, the Rose of New York has been seen weeping and the entire editorial staff and readership want to find and geld whoever had the sheer audacity to break her heart. He's not sure whether to laugh or cry, and in moods like this it's suit up and go out or stay in and eat butter pecan ice cream until he can't feel anything but nausea and mild self-hatred.

It's a good night until he finds a rose down on the docks, and then he misses her so badly he can hardly stand it. He almost doesn't see the scrap of paper under it. It's a sugar cube wrapper, with a brief note in her chickenscratch: Not angry. He tucks them both away, and police reports from that night note the faint scent of roses. He lets it dry on the table by his bed at home, and it's still there a week later when Rorschach into bed beside him.

She comes creeping in so silently, and he's so exhausted, that he doesn't actually wake up until she's tucked in beside him. Her weight is slight, and she's not touching him. He almost thinks it might be her heartbeat that lets him know she's there, delicately vibrating out through the springs. He opens his eyes quite calmly, and smiles when he sees her unmasked and in what seems to be a nightgown, spine rigid as she stares at the ceiling.

"Hey, buddy. Where've you been?"

"Nowhere. Everywhere." She turns to look at him, eyes a little too bright. "Couldn't sleep."

"You can stay here." He speaks with his eyes closed and stays loosely curled on his side, hardly daring to breathe when Rorschach fits herself into the curve, her narrow back against his belly as she pulls his arm around her waist, tucking it place like it's a blanket. He smiles, very slightly adjusts them, and goes to sleep again with his face nuzzled into Rorschach's hair.


	8. Chapter 8

Whores and their daughters don't know much about men in the morning, but Wanda isn't really surprised that Daniel is hard. It presents her with a quandary, however. Get up and leave the comfort of his arms, or stay where she is and risk violating him in his sleep. Usually she's good at self-denial, but there's been so little warmth in her life. She has to turn in his arms and press her face to his chest, has to wrap her own skinny arms around him and hug him tightly, even though that's sure to wake him up. He rumbles happily, kissing the top of her head.

"Didn't think you'd still be here." He murmurs.

"Said I could stay."

He laughs, and kisses her. His lips are so soft that she has to run her tongue out to feel them, and everything below the waist clenches when he moans. It feels almost like hunger and she bites his lip, irrationally irritated by his effect on her. It backfires when he quivers, and she compounds the error by doing it again.

"What's your real name?" He whispers, resting his forehead against hers. "I don't need all of it."

It's two unsubtle syllables, Wan-Da like some kind of third-rate Amazon queen. Easy to say, but it won't come out. "Can't. Sorry."

Rorschach always chooses her words carefully, and Dan knows she means can't, not won't. "Okay. I'm just glad you're here." He's also glad she's not freaking out over the morning (okay, afternoon) wood poking her thigh. It's really hard not to just hump her like a dog because she's here and smells like roses and that good but cheap talcum powder she uses to keep her mask from sticking, and her little pointed nails are digging into his back as she kisses him again, rocking her hips very slightly and making him whimper all out of proportion. He's never wanted to fuck anyone quite so badly in his life, and he's working so hard not to scare her that he nearly jumps out of his skin when she takes his hand and puts it under her nightgown, just on the inside of one knee. Glancing down, the sight of white cotton panties bunched inelegantly around one ankle nearly stops his heart. Rorschach loops her other leg over his hip, her knee impossibly high, giving him complete access, and does nothing else. She barely even seems to breathe, and Dan suddenly gets it. This is her answer to his chivalry. She doesn't want to make him do anything he doesn't want to, but she's as hungry as he is. He ghosts his fingertips up the humid skin of her inner thigh and she shudders, ten little points of fire on his back where her nails are.

"Rorschach." He whispers, and it's a strange word for tender a tone. It rolls off the tongue easily enough. "Rorschach, look at me." He gently tips her chin up, needing to see her face, needing to know he isn't screwing this up completely. Her face is flushed and her eyes are slightly glassy, a condition that only becomes more pronounced as he slides his hand further up to feel how far down she has already dripped. "You should take your nightgown off if you don't want it to get ruined." He purrs, and even though he can't control his tone of voice, which makes it seem as though "little girl" and a leer ought to be appended to the words, Rorschach doesn't seem to mind. Whimpers, in fact, and practically tears it off, flinging it to the headboard and digging her heel into Dan's back. Her nipples are pale pink and feel like silk against his skin where she rubs them in light, wonderfully selfish circles, mewling as Dan skims teasingly along her slit without pressing in.

Daniel..." She whines, struggling to press herself down onto his fingers.

"Ssshh." He slips one finger into her, gliding easily to the knuckle as she clamps down on it, crying out softly. "It's okay, baby." He kisses her cheek, adding a second and making her whimper again. One hand flashes down to grab his wrist, holding his fingers in place as she climbs up to kiss him. He shifts to take one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently as he crooks his fingers, his cock throbbing enviously. She's so tight, hot and slick and squeezing desperately, and when he finds the little rough spot and presses up behind the way Leslie showed him, Rorschach wails, clawing at him as she fucks herself on his hand harder than he would have dared, biting her lip in fierce concentration and then letting it go to pant. She arches her back and offers herself up to his hands and mouth, one hand yanking painfully at his hair as he rolls his thumb over her clit. He times it to her thrusts, and soon she's wailing helplessly, fluttering around him as she comes.

Her thighs shake and her eyes roll back. It seems to go on forever, and she kisses him hard as soon as she has the breath, shivering. He carefully slides his fingers out of her and licks them before he realizes what he's doing, blushing and looking at Rorschach only to see her watching avidly. He groans, suddenly aware of just how long he's been hard and how badly he aches. He shivers when Rorschach kisses him, and moans when she presses him onto his back. He's not even sure what she's doing until she's nuzzling his belly, obviously on her way south. He feels like he should tell her that she doesn't have to do this, but then he can feel her breath on him and she looks up with bright brown eyes and actually winks at him before wrapping her lips around him and sinking down, humming low in her throat in a way that blots out his capacity for rational thought.

He groans and winds his clean hand into her hair, endearments and encouragements turning into meaningless verbal slop under the onslaught. Having gotten head from girls who like giving it and from those who are resigned to it, he can tell the difference. Rorschach is moaning softly around him, and when he forgets himself and bucks his hips, she makes an encouraging noise, reaching up to press his hand. He gingerly fucks her mouth, harder when she looks up at him in exasperation. He can't stand much of this and tries to warn her before he comes, dazed but not surprised when she insists on staying in place, swallowing and releasing him to lie beside him again.

"...Uh, breakfast?" He says when he can speak again.

"Already had mine, technically."

He laughs. "Hell, that's bad even for you. Besides, it's not nearly enough to sustain an active girl like you."


	9. Chapter 9

It's the most satisfying and the most frustrating relationship he's ever had. Rorschach doesn't tell him her real name, and she won't move in, even sorta-kinda. She won't even use the freaking toothbrush he bought her, carting her own back and forth instead. On the other hand, she knows him for who he really is and loves him with a ferocity he has never experienced. With her mask on, she's filthy and inventive and wonderfully cruel, and with it off she’s just as willing, but shyer and more tender. He's still not sure which side he likes better.

He tries to keep the worst of his own freakiness from her, but she appears in his bedroom in full regalia when he isn't expecting her and cuffs him to the headboard. He gasps as though he's come up from under water, waking in a moment of irrational but real terror that he's somehow pissed her off enough to make her want to actually hurt him. She straddles him, her coat fanning out over the blanket, leather-clad hands running over his chest.

"Hush." She pinches his nipples slowly and unbearably hard, making him whimper in agony as she leans down to kiss him through the latex.

"Rorschach..." He moans when she pushes two fingers into his mouth, soft leather fucking along his tongue.

"If you can't keep quiet, do I have to gag you?" She purrs.

"Please." He moans, and feels himself blush, turning his face away. He's so hard it hurts, and he knows she can feel it as she leans in to cram her glove into his mouth, muffling him. He howls into the improvised gag as she goes on to prove that she knows a lot more about him than he had realized. Three fingers in his ass tell him she knows about the toys, so carefully hidden. She delicately puts his glasses on him before stripping down to her lingerie so he can get a good look, letting him know that she knows just what he thinks of it, rolling her hips in an exasperating, wonderful lap dance. When she asks him if he wants her to take it off, he can only nod, whimpering around the glove. She does, but so slowly he's almost sorry he asked. He whines softly and squirms in a futile and unconscious effort to do something about his aching cock.

"Stay." She forces him to be still and presses a sticky black and white kiss to his forehead before reaching over and showing him that she knows where he keeps the lube despite their never having used it. He groans, the sound rising to something that's almost a scream as she touches him, coating him with lube and then reaching back and... He's pretty sure those fingers are actually going up her ass, and closes his eyes to keep from coming right there. In a way it's almost worse, because there's nothing to distract him from her harsh breathing and little growling noises. Rorschach finally takes a deep breath, lets it out, and lines him up against her ass, sliding the tip through the wetness of her cunt.

"Look at me." She growls, and he does, eyes wide. It's a struggle to keep them open as she sinks down onto him, the outline of her panting mouth visible through the mask. As the last inch slides in she jerks and cries out in what Dan worries for a moment is pain before he sees it for what it is: surprise. He suddenly gets the feeling that she's never actually done this before, and groans, just the idea of that making his hips buck. Rorschach mauls her clit, clamping down on him and sounding annoyed at her own pleasure, obviously more distracting than she had counted on. Dan gets his feet planted and works on distracting her some more, his own sobbing groans muffled by the glove. It feels like it goes on forever and Rorschach comes twice before it’s over. More than anything, it’s the shock in her voice as the second one sweeps over her that gets him. She was obviously prepared to do this for him even if she didn’t enjoy it, and now… He has no choice but to follow her, and struggle to catch his breath as she collapses on him for a long moment, trembling. She finally sits up and uncuffs him, pulling the crumpled glove from his mouth.

“Rorschach.” He breathes. “God.”

“Has nothing to do with this.” She mutters, and he has to laugh.

“Oh my god. Seriously, you’re gonna kill me and I couldn’t think of a better way to go.” He’s aware that he sounds slightly hysterical. “Holy shit.” Rorschach just moans softly as an aftershock runs through her and purrs like a cat, curling up with her head on his chest.


End file.
